


lovers who live in hopes

by seashadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, Fluff, Good Omens Lockdown, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: "According to the Bulletin de la Papeterie, there is even a sort of code or language of sealing wax among fashionable people...green for lovers who live in hopes..." (London Daily News, 1894)In lockdown, Crowley imagines a different way to safely see Aziraphale, and the color of Aziraphale's sealing wax is fulfilled.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 192
Collections: Good Omens Celebration, Good Omens Lockdown fics





	lovers who live in hopes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy over the Good Omens Lockdown that it's not to be believed, and I had to write this in response. Thank you, Neil. Thank you, Michael and David. Thank you, wonderful crew.

Aziraphale stared down at the desk, at the still gently-smoking sealing wax resting there. Crowley had rung at perhaps the least opportune time – technically there was no need to send this now, or even to write a polite inquiry as to what he was doing at a time like this.

No need to send a letter sealed with wax in Crowley’s favorite shade of green, carrying a message whose subtlety only Crowley was well-versed enough in the past to understand.

He sighed, dipped his pen in the inkwell, and watched a drop of ink travel from the nib to the paper before setting it back down. That call had rather taken all the wind out of his sails, as it were, although he supposed it wasn’t Crowley’s fault. Now there was an afternoon to fill and the rest of _Pilgrim’s Progress_ to re-read. Pleasant though that normally would be, he couldn’t help but think –

The phone rang. Unthinking, Aziraphale lunged for it. “Hello?”

“Angel. Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice bloomed in his ear. “You, uh. You rang me first, so it would’ve been rude of me not to be the one to call now. This time. Are you…doing anything important?”

Aziraphale rolled his pen across the blotter. “Nothing that can’t be easily interrupted. Are you all right? I didn’t upset you, did I?”

“Angel, listen –“

“Because if I did, I certainly didn’t mean to,” Aziraphale went on. It was ridiculous to babble, he knew; there was nothing he could say that would upset Crowley, no long-drawn-out explanation he had to make so as not to be understood. But these floodgates had opened, and he couldn’t stop now. “Crowley, I’m so sorry if I hurt you. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I certainly don’t want anything to happen to other people, either. You must know how much I care about you.”

The ensuing pregnant pause made his heart sink. “Hello?” he ventured into the receiver. “Did the call drop?” He’d mucked things up again for certain. Crowley would want to sleep through August now, and it was his fault.

“No, angel. No.” It was half a sigh, making Aziraphale shiver even through the crackling connection. “Please listen. You didn’t want me _sssslithering_ over.” Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but Crowley only continued as if he’d anticipated it. “I understand that. But you didn’t say anything about…other methods of getting around.”

“Other…? Crowley, what do you mean?”

“D’you remember me telling you how I trapped Hastur in the ansaphone?”

Aziraphale nodded, then remembered that Crowley couldn’t possibly see that. “Yes,” he said. “That was clever of you, my dear. But why are you bringing it up now?”

“I…” Crowley paused again. “Angel, do you trust me?”

“Wholeheartedly.” There had never been any question about that.

“Okay.” He heard Crowley swallow hard. “Er, do you mind putting the receiver down? And stand back a bit.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. “I – all right.” He carefully set down the receiver and got up from his chair, staring at the phone. Crowley was up to something, but he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

A shiver of magic passed through the phone and rippled through the air, and then Crowley stood there, larger than life.

He couldn’t help it. Aziraphale strode forward and had Crowley in his arms before he could even think to ask. “Clever indeed,” he said, resting his chin on Crowley’s shoulder. How he’d missed that shoulder, and the bony hands that slowly came to rest on his hips, and the wonderful demon who encompassed everything. “Oh, Crowley.”

“ _Angel_.” Crowley squeezed him, gentler than Aziraphale’s own hold. “Are you really mad?”

“Never. Never, ever.” Aziraphale took a deep breath of Crowley’s scent. His bookshop, he suddenly realized, had felt so empty without even traces of it there. “You’re staying as long as _I_ like.”

“Mm,” Crowley said, lips only millimeters from Aziraphale’s ear. “I forgot to bring wine, I just remembered.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Your company is all I need.”

Crowley made an incomprehensible noise and hid his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Missed you,” he said. “Weeks without seeing you, I’ve been going mad. There’s only so much you can do online. And the plants’ll start shouting back if I shout at them anymore.”

“Don’t abuse the poor things,” said Aziraphale. He brought up a hand and stroked Crowley’s hair; it felt as soft as he’d always imagined. Crowley’s breath caught, but he made no objection. “I think,” he added, “that it would be good for your plants if you were to stay here a long while. What do you think, my dear boy?”

“Think maybe you’re right,” Crowley answered. He sounded as grateful as if Aziraphale had tossed him a lifeline rather than simply spoken a few words. “Maybe I could miracle over that wine.”

“Later.” Aziraphale pulled away, heart lurching at the broken sound Crowley made. He immediately cupped Crowley’s face in both hands, the demon’s cheeks warm against his palms. “Could I, Crowley?”

Crowley’s eyes, wide and bright – and devoid of sunglasses, Aziraphale noticed – focused on his. “Yeah. Y-yes.” His tongue darted out and flicked at his lips.

Aziraphale kissed him.

He thought that it might have been forever they stood there. Crowley’s lips parted enough for Aziraphale to slip his tongue into his mouth, and warmth lit up his body when Crowley gasped in response. A sound of his own rose in Aziraphale’s throat. He pulled Crowley closer with a hand on the small of his swaying back, and concentrated on kissing him thoroughly enough to make it more than worthwhile.

When he pulled away, sweat had gathered on Crowley’s forehead and he looked gobsmacked. Poleaxed, maybe. “Aziraphale?”

“I love you more than anything,” Aziraphale told him.

“Me, too. I mean,” Crowley sputtered, “you, not me. You know what I mean.”

“Mm, I do.” Aziraphale rubbed his hand up and down Crowley’s back. “Do you know what I think?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “What?”

“I think,” Aziraphale said, “that the next time you tell me good night, it should be when I’m next to you and can send you off to sleep with a touch. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It would,” said Crowley hoarsely. “We should…sit. And read, and talk, and things. But could I – “ His cheeks reddened. “Another kiss first?”

“That would be lovely,” Aziraphale told him, and complied.

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted [here](https://godihatethisfreakingcat.tumblr.com/post/616933121046298624/lovers-who-live-in-hopes-good-omens-lockdown) on Tumblr!


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